Tag: iceland

  • How the lesson you most need to learn keeps coming back to you … 

    "... I am discovering 
    the kindness 
    of slow days ..."

    I’ll admit I’m not good at relaxing.  I like to be busy, doing stuff.  If I’m not actually doing stuff, then I’ll be making a list of things to do.  I’ve talked about this before, but the fact that I’m contemplating this theme again, makes me realise I’m still learning.  Do other people find this?  The lessons you most need to learn just keeping coming back to you, in one form or another, until you get the message.  And then, if like me, you let things slide, before you know it, you’re back where you started.  It’s then the lesson starts afresh. 

    I thought about this recently as we drove along the north coast road of Iceland’s West Fjords (Vestfirdir).  Like most coastal roads, you find yourself driving back and forth, east to west, to reach the same point some miles down the road.  I imagine, as the crow flies, the distance between Hólmavík, where we started, and the end of the road at Bolungarvík is significantly less than the actual driving distance.  It got me thinking that life doesn’t always go in a straight line, which most people will appreciate, I’m sure.  I’m not convinced that time is a constant either.  We have made sense of time passing by creating hours and minutes, but it’s a rough guess at best isn’t it?  

    I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks that time sometimes passes way too quickly, and other times seems to drag.  Time often feels like the enemy, when you’re rushing to get things done within a certain deadline, or when you want time to slow down so that you can make the most of a special occasion.  

    Just occasionally, a certain kind of magic happens: time seems to stop, leaving you in a state of bliss to simply enjoy the moment for longer than you dare to believe possible.  This happened to me on that road trip and it was totally sublime.  I felt like I’d travelled through some kind of portal into another world, like Narnia, where the rules were completely different and I didn’t have to conform to anything.  I just had to be.  

    Figure of a woman in a yoga pose in front of the sea with mountains in the backgroun

    I didn’t have to be any place by a certain time.  There was only the one road, so I didn’t even have to think about navigation.  Due to the many twists and turns along the way, the going was slow.  There was nothing for it but to relax into the driving seat, take in the scenery and allow myself to feel part of the landscape.  I cherish moments like this.  It reminds me that life is not a race; it’s important to slow down and allow yourself to completely relax into the moment.  I know that’s easier said than done.  Easy for me, on a road trip, free of the distractions of home.  I do get that.  But I hope that this poem will prompt you to think about the last time you truly looked up and paid attention to the life you’re living.  If it’s been a while, then perhaps it’s time to stop and look up.  

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  • How feeling small can be a big deal …

    "... I’ve crossed more than a sea 
    to get to where I am 
    this journey began long ago
    in dreams and visions 
    of a quieter life ..."

    It’s hard to believe that, at time of writing, I’m already half way through my trip to Iceland.  Yet it feels weird to even think about time, because quite honestly, it feels irrelevant.  It feels like time has stood still and I could be in a different era entirely, on another planet.  A couple of days ago we had to drive to Reykjavík to buy a replacement stove (don’t ask … long story!).  I felt completely out of my comfort zone, navigating a busy ring road and lots of traffic.  For weeks, it feels like we’ve been living in a time warp, where you can drive for miles without seeing a car and where isolated farms populate an otherwise wild and wide open space. 

    I’m intoxicated by the huge landscape, so much so that it feels rude to break the spell.  Whilst driving, I usually listen to the radio, or to music, but here we’ve driven in silence.  It feels too much to add to the already crowded senses.  If I say anything to my husband, who is sat beside me in the van, I almost whisper.  I’ve purposefully avoided listening to the news.  To some, that may sound irresponsible but, goodness, I feel so light as a result!  

    It’s been a complete detox from so much of what drains me at home.  I wrote in an earlier blog about how travel can give you fresh perspective, and I’m certainly feeling that.  When you encounter a landscape both as ancient and alive as Iceland’s, you can’t help but accept that we humans aren’t as powerful as we think we are.  We’re not in control of this planet we call home.  We aren’t even that well established as a species in the grand scheme of things.  It’s thought provoking in ways I didn’t expect, and the poems just keep coming.  I’ve felt truly humbled and inspired, brought down to size by the sheer scale of the scenery, attracted by the seeming simplicity of life here (which I accept may not be simple at all, but I can only share my impressions).  Most townships are small and unassuming, usually with a church, a swimming pool, a football pitch and not much else.  I find it incredibly refreshing and perhaps it’s just what I needed as I transition from one way of living to another.  I needed to reconnect to nature and be reminded of my inconsequential place in the world.  I have plans and dreams for the next chapter of my life, of course I do, but I’m learning not to look too far into the future.  

    Small figure standing in front of a huge waterfall.

    One of the lessons I most needed to learn is to live in the moment.  I’ve watched a lot of tourists here (almost all Chinese) pour out of coaches and hire cars, to view a scene, take a photo and quickly get back on the road.  Who am I to judge?  I’m just as guilty sometimes of seeing something through the lens of my iPhone camera, rather than really looking.  I’m privileged because time is on my side: we’re here for an extended period of time.  I can and have surrendered to Iceland’s spell, engaging all my senses.  I’ve felt the roughness of the lava rocks and the softness of the vivid green moss carpeting the valley floor.  I’ve listened to the howling wind, felt the rain on my face, and tasted the saltiness of sea.  I’ve felt my bones rattle on unsurfaced roads and soothed in thermal pools.  Quite simply, I’ve lived in a big place and felt small.  I suspect planet earth approves. 

    icelandDownload